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by the classicist
Summary: **SPOILERS FOR 3x13** Someone IS waiting for Guy! One shot, please read and review. Still haven't got the hang of the ratings system yet, so its T to be safe.


**Since the writers of Robin Hood didn't feel like giving Guy any sort of closure after his death, I've done it myself! Please read and review. I don't own any of the Robin Hood Characters, or the dialogue Robin and Guy have before Gizzy's death. **

**R.I.P Guy of Gisborne – our handsome, honourable hero.**

"Get the people out through the cellar. Backs onto this tunnel. The Sheriff will take his men the easy route, through the Great Hall," Guy gasped out urgently to his brothers. Despite his wounds, this was the most important thing – get the innocents out. They had done nothing. It was not their fight.

Or perhaps, he reflected, as words flashed between Robin and Archer – too fast for him to grasp them in his current state – he was just trying to stave off his fear. For he was dying, of that Guy was sure. He'd seen too many men die of similar wounds – usually of his infliction – not to know what was coming. And what a strange way to die – in the arms of an enemy who was no longer an enemy, in a cold, dark tunnel that he himself had built.

Robin and Archer had obviously finished their hasty conference, for the latter was rising now. Guy reached out and grasped his hand, even though the movement caused him so much pain. "Brother," he managed to smile. And, despite the pain and the fear, it was a true smile – free from hatred, or revenge, or evil. One of the smiles that had always come to his face when he looked at Marian. Archer nodded once and returned his grip with one equally firm, before moving away. He disappeared from Guy's field of vision, and the sudden absence of his supporting presence made Guy feel the pain of his mortal wounds all the more. He groaned out loud in agony as it hit him.

"Is this the end?" Guy asked Robin, already knowing the answer. He was trying to deny it to himself and was surprised to realise that he wanted to live. It was a new feeling – since Marian's death, he'd just wanted it all to end. He'd even contemplated doing the job himself more than once, since no one else seemed willing to oblige him. And now it was ending for sure.

"For you and me both, my friend," was Robin's rough reply. Tears started, hot and wet, in Guy's eyes at this last. He had no right to the status of friend to Robin of Locksley. He was not worthy. Guy wanted to tell him so, to correct him, but he couldn't find the words. Instead he said, "I'm sorry."

The two words seemed to encompass a lifetime of sins, and felt new and strange in Guy's mouth. He did not remember the last time he had said them. Perhaps he never had. Robin merely shook his head – no need.

"At least you have someone waiting for you. Marian. The love of my life. She was always yours," Guy murmured. A twinge of self-pity nagged at his heart now, for the first time. No one was waiting for Guy of Gisborne. Not Marian. Not Meg. Both were in Heaven. And he was going to Hell for sure. Nothing of goodness would ever be seen by these eyes again.

But at least he had not died in dishonour. His mother – sweet, gentle Ghislaine – would be proud of him. He had tried to uphold the Gisborne name, in the last few weeks at least. For this, he was grateful to Robin. Without him, that wouldn't have been possible. He grasped Robin's arm with as much strength as he could muster – he had to tell him. "I've lived in shame," he breathed. "But because of you I die proud."

All the pain had gone. Guy leant back in Robin's arms and said with satisfaction, "I am free." He sank into blackness, feeling his hand loosen from Robin's arm. His face cleared and took on the peace of death.

It seemed like an age later when Guy's mind swam back into consciousness. His first thought was that he was no longer cold. His whole body felt warm, but not uncomfortably so. This couldn't be the fires of Hell, or at least that was what Guy thought. It felt strangely like the gentle warmth of the Sun. Something chirped nearby that sounded remarkably like birdsong. Above him, something buzzed. Birds? Bees? Impossible.

Even his prop felt different. Not like a cold, stone floor, or even the warm arms of his – friend – Robin. There was a roughness against his back, unlike that of stone, or flesh. If he didn't know it to be impossible, Guy of Gisborne would have said he was lying against a tree. Well, there was only one way to find out what was happening. Steeling himself, he opened his eyes. And gasped out loud. He was indeed lying against a tree, its roots spreading out around him. _An oak_ he thought carelessly. The tree stood on a grassy hill, which overlooked a long meadow. It stretched on for as far as the eye could see, dotted with wildflowers, rippling in a light summer breeze. The sky was bright blue and cloudless. The beautiful, natural simplicity of the whole landscape was breathtaking. If Guy had to compare it to anywhere, he would have likened it to Gisborne, his family's lost estate. As a child, he had spent many a day running through those sweet fields, with not a care to trouble him, or a rivalry to make him bitter...

Guy only knew of one place that could be so beautiful, but he had barred himself from it time and again – no one would have allowed Guy of Gisborne into Heaven. "Perhaps," he commented to himself, "I am so evil that even Hell looks pleasant to me." This theory, he had to admit, was far more likely than the first. But that did not make it any easier to bear. He rose to his feet, and was surprised to find that he was able to. There was no pain, and when Guy looked down he received yet another shock. Instead of the filthy, blood-and-mud-stained garments he had died in, he was wearing a white cotton shirt, with silver embroideries, and silver-grey breeches. He raised the hem of his shirt, still in shock, and saw his chest was unmarked. Not even the slightest trace of a scar. He ran his hand through his hair in puzzlement, and found it was shorter, neater, _cleaner_ than it had been in a long time.

_Maybe_, he reflected, _in a moment, all this will vanish_. Then, he knew, his punishment would begin – an eternity of fire and brimstone. Perhaps this was part of the punishment – to show a sinner like him the afterlife they could have had, in this sweet, peaceful land, if they had been more virtuous on Earth, before taking it all away from them. Guy's heart ached with regret. But not self-pity. Hell was exactly what he deserved – there could be no escape. Guy turned around to look back at the tree, and saw that it was the beginning of a dense wood, all green and gold. Perhaps if he walked back through it, he would find his way back to life. But that could not be. Whatever else he was, Guy of Gisborne had never been a coward. Murderer, yes. Sinner, yes. But never coward. He would face his fate with honour and bravery – whatever it might be.

Guy looked out over the meadows again, and was surprised to see a figure running through the grass, indistinct at this distance. He shaded his eyes with his hand, against the glare of the afternoon sun, trying to make out who or what it was. A moment later, the runner having closed some more of the distance between them, Guy's mouth dropped open n disbelief. For, sprinting towards him, now crying out his name at what must be the top of her lungs, was a person whom Guy had never expected to see again...

Meg was as beautiful as he remembered – her auburn hair flowing over her slender shoulders in fiery ripples, her expressive face full of joy and love. She was wearing a long, pale yellow gown, and a tiny coronet of red wildflowers encircled her dainty head. She reached him and threw her arms around his neck, eyes glowing. Guy was forced to believe in her existence now, whatever his earlier doubts had been – she was pressed against him, warm, and (to all appearances) living, her sweet lips touching his shaven cheek, her gentle rosy scent filling his nostrils. Guy's arms rose to encircle her, his heart lighter and more joyful than it had been for a long time – years and years. At last she released him, and stepped back, still retaining a strong grip on his hand.

She was smiling. "I knew you'd get here!" she told him. Guy shook his head, and replied, when he finally had the breath to speak, "Here? Where is here?" Meg rolled her eyes in reply, balancing her free hand on her hip. "Well, it isn't Purgatory, and not even you could think Hell is this beautiful. So I suppose, Sir Guy, that that leaves Heaven," she answered. She spoke slowly, as though explaining it all to a small child, but her eyes were laughing, and her tone was joking.

Guy couldn't take it all in. He was confused and, quite frankly, disbelieving. "But," he stuttered, "I'm a sinner – evil. You know what I've done in my life, how worthless I was – I shouldn't be here – I don't – ". Meg placed a soft hand over his mouth, cutting him off. "Shhhh. I won't have talk like that from you, Guy of Gisborne. You died fighting for a good cause – the best, in fact. You pleaded for my life when we stood on that executioner's platform. You mourned Lady Marian. You have a good heart, Guy, and you have more than redeemed yourself," she explained gently and seriously. Guy looked down at her wordlessly. She had always believed him to be a better man than he was. Just like Marian. He had never thought to see her again, however, and their reunion was much too recent to argue with her yet.

Instead, he changed the subject. "Why are you here, Meg? What are you doing?" he asked her. Part of him still believed that sooner or later she was going to vanish, in a puff of smoke, like a jester's trick at a country fair. Meg squeezed his hand, almost as though she was contradicting this thought, and told Guy matter-of-factly, "I quite like you, Sir Guy of Gisborne. And you're the sort of man who's likely to get into trouble if left to his own devices." She hesitated and then continued, "I heard what you said to Robin – about not having anyone who would wait for you. I would have waited an eternity, Guy – never doubt that."

Guy turned red with suppressed emotion and looked away. If she had heard _that_ then she must have heard his speech about Marian. _And she still waited for you. You will never deserve her Gisborne, try as you might_ he told himself. The thought of anyone as good and as kind as Meg waiting for him was almost too much for his stunned senses to take in. It was so unlikely.

But now, Meg was tugging at his hand. "Come on, there's something I want to show you. Close your eyes." Guy obeyed – he was beginning to think that there was very little he would not for the slight, young woman standing before him – and allowed her to begin leading him down the hill. The walk seemed to take a long time, but Guy was glad of it. There was much to think about and reconcile himself to. As he meditated, the scent of an early summer evening reached him, and grass and flowers wafted against him, soothing his mind and lending him peace.

At last, Meg stopped him and released his hand. Guy stood where she had left him, wondering where he was, and what she had wanted to show him. "Open your eyes," Meg whispered. Her voice was as musical as it had ever been. Sometimes, in the last few weeks, when he had been unable to sleep, Guy had soothed himself into slumber with the memory of it. He smiled and did as he was bid. In front of him stood a small stone cottage, with a roof of golden thatch. The sky blue door was open, and framed with a trellis of roses. But the most wonderful thing about this entire wonderful scene was the middle-aged woman standing in the open cottage door. Ghislaine of Gisborne beamed at her son, pride and love mingling in her glance. "Mother," Guy breathed. He was longing to go to her, but not quite knowing what to say or do. Meg solved his problem by opening the gate and once more taking his hand. She rested her head on his shoulder, smiling softly at the quiet joy of the man she loved. "Welcome home," she whispered.


End file.
